


One Wave Short of a Shipwreck

by Jesse_Tee



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Hint of M/M, M/M, Mind Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 14:14:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10492653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jesse_Tee/pseuds/Jesse_Tee
Summary: A first meeting of a different sort. Mind games, hints of m/m (if you have a smutty mind). Again, I took some liberties with the canon timeline just because I can.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own NO ONE depicted in these fics. I am not endorsed by any person, corporation, etc., nor do I receive any monies for writing sick and twisted tales of their imagined goings-on. Title from "I'm Going Slightly Mad" by Queen. Lyrics, quotations, etc. used without permission. No infringement or disrespect to the various artisans is intended, so please don't sue me.
> 
> Feedback of course is always welcome!

_I do not know which to prefer,_

_The beauty of inflections_

_Or the beauty of innuendoes_

\- Wallace Stevens (Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird)

 

**oOo**

 

The young man sat on the bench, fidgeting back and forth in a futile effort to get comfortable. He glanced down once again at the PADD in his hands. Where had he left off? He didn't recognize the paragraph his thumb was on, but that didn't really signify. Were he back at the Academy being given a quiz on what he'd read thus far, he'd fail it abysmally, so little attention had he paid to the actual text. Life had been like that for him lately. Almost as if he were a ship adrift, content to let the tide of events carry him to whatever destination God or whomever had in mind for him.

But today was supposed to be different, a brash effort to try to regain some sense of control over his life. He was on his way to a new position in a sense. A new beginning, another chance to try to make an impact rather than be constantly reminded of his own complicated past. He stared down at his PADD, again not really seeing the words, thinking about all the things he'd heard about what the newly christened station had been transformed into. Innovative. Potentially dangerous. Unique.

He sighed out loud, running that last word over and over again in his head. That's all he'd ever wanted. To be recognised for _who_ and not _what_ he was. His professional debut had come early, but had not brought the immediate satisfaction that the starry-eyed young man had envisioned. He'd had to content himself with accepting minor postings like so many others before him, still searching for a place to truly call home.

He was distracted from his thoughts by the transport drifting to a halt at the last pickup location. He glanced up briefly and wondered how close he was to his destination, guessing that he had barely a quarter of an hour to go. He'd lowered his head once more, trying to focus once again on his PADD, when he became aware of another person standing near him in the crowded vessel, all the seats having been claimed. Not such a surprise. He furrowed his brow, trying to force himself to make it through one entire sentence on the latest mutation of Pa’nar Syndrome when he became aware that this newest passenger had moved even closer. He glanced up angrily from his PADD and got no farther than the intruder's lower half.

Expensive boots shined to a mirror finish. Smooth, nearly seamless trousers. The bottom length of an impeccably tailored ochre-coloured jacket. This new passenger was definitely male. And decidedly _not_ human. Even if the young man's eyes had been closed, he would have known instinctively, so heady was the musky, leathery aroma that emanated from the stranger, an almost tangible odor that spoke of masculine, almost reptilian confidence.

The young man ducked his head down again, not wanting to risk angering the stranger by continuing to stare. A placid smile, a lack of eye contact, and the pushy man would eventually move. And he did. He narrowed the distance between them until the his boots were wedged up against the young man's shoes. Any attempts to move away at this point were futile, as the young man was firmly sandwiched between the stranger and the bulkhead. His hands gripped his PADD tightly in an effort not to show how uncomfortable the other man was making him, the hard edges biting into his hands. He still hadn't looked up.

A heavy boot slowly pressed down on top of one of the young man's shoes, bearing down with undeniable strength. A sharp intake of breath at the sudden pressure was his only reaction. The stranger's leg was brushing up against his PADD now and the young man tried not to think about the how little fabric and material actually separated him from this arrogant, domineering man. He fidgeted slightly, trying to work his shoe out from under the other man's boot, but it was as if someone had set a fifty-pound weight on top of his foot.

After what he would have sworn was an hour but in actuality was far less, the transport gave a final lurch as it docked with the station and the young man thanked all that was holy that he'd reached his final port of call. Without a single look at his oppressor, he grabbed his duffel bag and climbed awkwardly to his feet, stumbling slightly as the stranger finally lifted his boot and freed the young man. He hoisted the bag over his shoulder and assumed a brisk pace towards the launch pad, wanting to put as much distance between him and the detestable man as he possibly could.

After a brief distance he stepped onto the Promenade - or what would soon **BE** the Promenade. For now it was a jumbled mess littered with twisted, jagged metal, decidedly unsanitary-looking fencing, and sputtering conduits. All in all, it looked a ghastly sight but one that held great promise for the young man. Now things would be different. This was his fresh start. His new beginning. His clean slate. He could be anyone he wanted to be here.

Several officers were present nearby, speaking animatedly among themselves. One of them, a tall,  imperious looking man, turned to fix him with a wide smile. “Doctor Bashir, I presume. Welcome to Deep Space Nine. I’m Commander Benjamin Sisko, this is my chief science officer, Jadzia Dax, and this is Major Kira, our Bajoran liaison officer.”

The polite introductions duly made, the young man glanced around, smiling broadly. He took a few more steps along the Promenade, his gaze sweeping up to take in the upper level, the viewing ports that bore a disquieting resemblance to eyes. “Oh, this will be perfect,” he said almost to himself. “Real… frontier medicine.

The Bajoran officer’s smile faltered slightly as she repeated his words. “Frontier medicine?”

He nodded in response. “Major, I had my choice of any job in the Fleet.”

She fixed him with a slightly mocking sneer. “Did you?”

He nodded vigorously in return. “I didn't want some cushy job or a research grant; I wanted _this_ \- the farthest reaches of the galaxy, one of the most remote outposts available. This is where the adventure is. This is where heroes are made. Right here - in the wilderness.”

Kira’s smile was definitely gone now and her words were hard and bitten-off. “This " _wilderness_ "... is my home.”

The young man’s eyes widened as he realised he’d inadvertently offended the feisty redhead and he raised his hands in mock surrender, taking several steps backward…

...and promptly snagged his tunic on one of the jutting lengths of twisted metal frame. He glanced down with dismay at the rip in the fabric. Upsetting the major and now this? Hardly the most auspicious beginning to his new start.

The station’s commander took pity on him, however, and clapped him on the shoulder, laughing good naturedly. “You’re in luck, doctor. Our resident tailor has just returned from a brief absence. I believe he arrived on the same runabout that you did.” He glanced back towards the launch pad and nodded as he spied the individual in question approaching. He put a comradely arm around the young man's shoulders, turning him around to face the man he'd indicated.

As if all the blood in his veins had suddenly turned to ice, the young man shivered as he took in the appearance before him. Highly polished boots, flawless trousers, impeccably tailored ochre-coloured jacket. As he dragged his gaze up to finally meet the other man’s wide-eyed and slightly smug stare he had the acute sensation of being a specimen in a laboratory - or a sumptuous meal about to be devoured.

"Doctor Bashir, I'd like you to meet Mister Garak."


End file.
